Shattered Glass
by amongstthesky
Summary: AU: Voldemort won the Battle of Hogwarts and remains at large, and thanks to Hermione Granger, Draco finds refuge in the Order's safe house. But everything changes when she returns eighteen months later, more broken than Draco ever was. In a slow and very unstable process, they learn the true meaning of redemption and healing. M for dark content and future smut.
1. Arrival

Chapter 1 - Arrival

_October 20, 1999_

When he first saw her arrive, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

She was Granger, and yet she was not. There was no fire in her eyes, no stupid grin gracing her features, and no rather obnoxious chatter. She hadn't even argued with him, or bothered to ask him why he was here.

But it couldn't be Hermione Granger.

She would've shouted at him. She would've hugged her friends. She would've done something. She would've had a light in her eyes.

He didn't believe it was her at first, even after a few minutes of staring. She looked so different. There were no smile that had before always lingered on her face, and there were large purple bags under her eyes. She looked empty, her face void of any emotion at all.

She said nothing before she retreated up the stairs and to the last empty room; the one beside his.

.

* * *

.

_May 2, 1998 (a year earlier)_

Even Draco was both shocked and horrified at the sight of Harry Potter's dead body; the Chosen One hadn't won. The Boy Who Lived was dead. He swallowed a sudden knot in his throat. There it went, his hope of getting out of this damned life as a Death Eater.

Once all the Death Eaters had gone, he had collapsed and broken down in tears with the rest of the other mourners. No one even said a word to him, questioning why he was sobbing over the corpse of his enemy. Not even Granger or the Weasel. They simply stared at him for a moment before returning to their mourning.

He wasn't grieving Harry Potter; he was grieving for the loss of the only hope of the Wizarding World. Tomorrow would be hell, and the Death Eaters would be taking over within hours, if even that. They had already won. His wavering loyalty had helped him to decide to heal the injured Order of the Phoenix soldiers. If the Death Eaters found him in the crowd, he would be the first to be killed.

He knew he had to run, but where to run?

He could throw himself off the highest tower of Hogwarts; that would surely be the

easiest way out. But he didn't have a death wish, not entirely. In all the multiple times he had contemplated suicide in the past few years, he had always come to the conclusion he was afraid of dying.

He tried to think of somewhere else to hide; anywhere to hide. But there was no way for him to hide from the Death Eaters. Harry Potter and his little possy had tried for months, and now here they were, one of them dead. He knew there had to be a safe house somewhere. He needed to know where he could hide out.

The war would go on, of course; but he saw no reason to risk his neck fighting for a lost cause. He would be killed the moment he stepped out onto the field, if that is he wasn't in Bellatrix's hands. No, she would draw it out and make it as painful as possible for him. His father would probably do the same, and his mother would watch, helpless as she always was.

He shuddered, now wanting a place to hide even more. But who would take him in? The Dark Mark was still on his forearm, and though no longer evil, he was still a cold-hearted bastard, and his views on blood status were not completely gone.

He wasn't sure what gave him the courage to approach the Mudblood he had tormented for the past seven years, and the Mudblood whom he had watched be tortured in his drawing room, but he did. She would understand more than Weasel.

"Can I talk to you alone, Granger?" he asked.

She rolled her amber eyes. "What, so you can kill me? Nice try, Malfoy. We all know what side you're on. Besides, I'm a Mudblood. Why do you need to get me alone? Your side's already one. Why don't you challenge me right here?"

"I have no interest in dueling with you, Granger," he replied coolly. "And for your information, we're on the same side now. We have been for the past few months."

Granger laughed. She actually laughed. He would've shouted at her, if he wasn't the one doing the begging in this situation. "I would think you'd have more skill at acting to get your way when you're a Slytherin. Your attempt was actually hilarious to me."

"Fuck, Granger," he retorted. "Just get me the hell out of here. Are you the pious bookworm Hermione Granger or not? I need somewhere to hide for as long as the war draws out; which may well be for the rest of my life."

"You have done _nothing_ to deserve a favor from me, Malfoy," she hissed. "Give me one reason I should help you."

"I don't deserve a favor from you," he agreed, feeling the immediate stab of pain to his pride. "I just... I'm desperate, alright? I'll be killed if they get a hold of me."

She let out another cold un-Granger like laugh. "All of us have that in common, Malfoy. They want all of us dead, not just you. Why do _you_ deserve to be one of the special ones in safety?"

"Granger, for God's sake I'll do anything," he begged. Oh Merlin, he was begging now. He was begging a Mudblood for help. He met her gaze. "_Please_... I'm not ready to die yet."

They sat there on the floor of the Great Hall, staring at each other for a long time before she finally sighed and spoke. "Alright, Malfoy. I'll give you a Portkey to the Safehouse. I saw you healing earlier and admittedly, I'm curious of your change. Go, Malfoy. Go save yourself like the coward you are."

And so he did exactly what she asked.

.

* * *

.

_May 3, 1998_

He couldn't sleep. Though everyone else in the safe house was asleep peacefully, he tossed and turned, thinking about the war. He was afraid to close his eyes for fear of another nightmare. He had many nightmares in the past few months; all relating to his father. Many of which were flashbacks.

He could see the light coming through the windows, but it was an eerie light. The rain was pounding against the window, too, as though the world was crying for them... crying for their failure. He grimaced when someone stirred, not yet having to have dealt with any of the other refugees.

He rested his head back on his pillow and acted like he was asleep. That was the easiest way to deal with this situation; hiding.

So that's what he did.

.

There were six others not including Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to run things in the safe house. Some old friends, some strangers, and some Mudbloods that he had tormented at school. All of them looked uncomfortable when he sat down at the table with them, and the mousy haired and small boy scooted slightly to the right so he was further away from Draco.

One of the Weasley twins sat down at the table, glaring at him the whole time. Once his mother had left the room, he seemed to feel much safer reprimanding Draco for his past actions. Coward.

"So, Malfoy," the twin smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Who did you have to kill to get here?"

Draco leaned forward in his seat slightly, already feeling his pulse speed up in anger. "Your brother's little girlfriend gave me a Portkey, actually."

"Hermione would never give you one. She loathes you."

"Well apparently not enough to leave me to die."

"She should have," George muttered under his breath. "You're nothing but a less successful copy of your father."

Draco stood up, slamming his fists on the table and leaning forward so he was in the Weasley's face.

"_George_!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from the living room, putting her hands on her hips. "You apologize to Draco right now."

"Why? He doesn't deserve an apology," George Weasley uttered grudgingly, sharing an intense glare with Draco. "He doesn't even deserve to be here in the fucking first place."

"_Now_," she demanded.

Weasley gritted his teeth. "I'm ever so sorry, dear."

"Don't have an attitude. Up to your room. You can skip breakfast-

"But _Mum!_"

With the look she gave him, even Draco would have obeyed.

Mrs. Weasley was an intimidating looking woman, and yet so sweet and motherly looking at the same time. Draco couldn't wrap his head around how this was possible. She was a short, pudgy woman in spectacles, slippers and a bathrobe and yet she was still intimidating. He wouldn't dare cross her.

"Who is here besides us?" Draco managed to ask after deep thought on what her reaction would be.

"There are five besides us three: Dean Thomas, Dennis Creevey, Luna Lovegood, and Cho Chang."

"That's only four."

"Oh yes, Blaise Zabini," Mrs. Weasley replied impassively. "He's upstairs sleeping. He was really beat up when he came in."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Wait... Slytherin Blaise Zabini? He's on You-Know-Who's side."

"McGonagall sent him," Mrs. Weasley responded. "Apparently you aren't the only one that's experienced a change of heart, Draco."

.

* * *

.

May 4, 1998

There were weird Muggle things everywhere. Something called a 'fridge', and something else called an 'oven', and another box like thing that played pictures with sound called a 'television.' They were all genius.

And all these years he had spent believing his father when he had said that Muggles were stupid.

.

* * *

.

_June 3, 1998_

He certainly didn't mean to overhear that conversation.

Everyone downstairs spoke of all the crimes the Death Eaters were committing. Fenrir Greyback was killing Muggle children and turning magical children into werewolves to help Voldemort. Bellatrix LeStrange was killing and torturing nearly everyone she could lay hands on, even her own side. Crabbe Sr. had killed Madame Rosmerta.

They spoke of all of them, and he looked down at his mark with self-loathing, but nothing compared to the last person they spoke of.

His father was on the duties of killing Muggleborns at birth. His father was the Dark Lord's right hand man. His father helped Voldemort to make more Horcruxes.

He opened his window then and conjured a rope with his wand. He climbed down it and ran into an orchard beside the cottage.

He slept there for four days before his self-disgust had faded enough for him to return.

.

* * *

.

_August 1, 1998_

He went to sleep in the living room with the others one summer evening because it was too damn hot upstairs. He took his place in the one unoccupied sleeping back that Molly Weasley had undoubtedly placed there in case he decided to sleep with the others, who were already laying down on the living room floor on theirs, but Blaise was the lucky soul with the couch. Conversation and questions immediately filled the summer air, and he knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep for a while later.

"You've changed a lot," George Weasley pointed out. "I mean, you haven't killed any of us in our sleep."

Draco gritted his teeth. "Smart observation, Weasley, but I'll have you know I've never killed anyone."

Whispers.

"So are you a good guy now?" Creevey asked. "My brother always told me how bad you were. But you can't be that bad if you switched sides, right? Were you a good guy all along like Snape was?"

"No."

"You've still changed a lot. You're not as much of a prat as you were at Hogwarts," Weasley observed. "You haven't called anyone a Mudblood or tortured Dean or Dennis for the fun of it because of their blood."

"Very fucking hilarious, Weasley," Draco drawled. "Say another word about my old prejudices and I'll make _you_ my first kill."

"He hasn't changed in someway," the singsong voice of Lovegood said from across the room. "He's still sarcastic, proud, and don't take offense to this, Draco, but rather arrogant and rude at times. His wit hasn't changed, either. He's still intelligent."

"The Sorting Hat's second choice for him was Ravenclaw," Blaise mused.

"Well, you seem very wise, Draco," Lovegood said.

Draco didn't take this as a compliment. If he had learned one thing about Lovegood in the past few months, it was that she only said the truth, and rarely gave compliments. He wasn't sure he had heard her compliment, really. She just said the reality, and that was either a very good or very bad thing in the present situation.

"My father always said the more hard times you go through, the wiser you become," she hummed.

Draco let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Well, that would explain it, then."

The others laughed too.

.

* * *

.

_December 25, 1998_

Draco refused to celebrate Christmas when asked. He saw no reason to celebrate anything, simply because there was nothing to celebrate. The past few months had hardly been easy on him.

He didn't want to come out of his room anyways. His room was the only place he ever really was, and he didn't have any desire to change it. He had a reputation to uphold; a reputation of a bitter, stubborn, and brooding yet still somewhat good person.

He never thought of himself as a good person. No, a good person would never be the right description of him. He had never been good. The only person he gave a damn about was himself, and he would openly admit to that. No one had ever really gave him a reason to give a damn; except for perhaps Granger. He had to care about her at least a little after what she had done for him.

Yet he was angry at Granger at the same time, for the same reason he was grateful. She had continued his life, which he so constantly wanted to end. And he felt as if he owed her something. The last person he wanted to be in debt to was Gryffindor's Princess.

He punched his desk and then the mirror beside it, shattering it. He cursed at the glass stuck in his knuckles and casted a silencing charm before shouting all the profanities he could think of as he removed the glass.

Once he had calmed down, he stared at the ceiling for hours until all the cheerful and drunken noise from the living room had ended.

Later that night, he went down stairs, picked off one of the ornaments on the tree and hurled it at the ground below him. It was only when he knelt down to repair the ornament when he noticed an unopened package under the tree. He pulled it out and looked at the tag, which read that it was to him and from Molly Weasley.

He opened it to find a green hand-knit sweater with a silver snake knitted in the middle of it. He didn't know what to feel, because he hadn't received a Christmas present in three years.

.

* * *

.

_Easter, 1999_

On Easter of 1999, Draco Malfoy ate a meal (breakfast, to be more precise), at the table with the rest of them for the first time since he'd been staying in Shell Cottage. Everyone went silent on his arrival, but he didn't give a damn. He was starving, and he didn't want to have to wait until later for Mrs. Weasley to bring it to him.

None of them spoke, but Draco still felt a little comfort from the presence of them.

::

Mrs. Weasley came in to see him later that day. She did occasionally. Usually he didn't talk; he saw no reason to. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing monumental had gone on in his life ever since he had gotten here. The most monumental moment was charming his walls to be grey instead of the god awful yellow it was when he got here. He didn't ask about the war, either, so he didn't even know the monumental events of others.

But he wanted to talk today, because he had to admit it, he was lonely. He talked so rarely that he was beginning to wonder if he had a voice left at all. He cleared his throat.

"Hello," he greeted.

The corners of her lips twitched up into a small grin. "Hello, Draco. That's the first time I've heard you say anything in months."

"There's nothing to say," he shrugged, pulling out the chair from his desk and gesturing her to sit down. "It's easier not saying anything, anyways."

"Why?" Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brow in a concerned manner.

"Everyone else tells happy stories to make the pain go away," Draco sighed. "I haven't got any happy stories; not one. Besides, they're sad."

"Aren't you?"

"I feel numb, most of the time," he replied. "I don't really feel anything. I don't think I have since fourth year. I probably haven't smiled since fifth year."

"What changed?"

"My father went back to the Dark Lord," Draco answered. He didn't want to elaborate. "But really, I don't think he ever left."

Mrs. Weasley patted him on the back. "I have to go check on George. He hasn't been well lately; he misses his brother."

"Ah."

"I'm always here to listen, Draco."

He nodded, and broke down and cried for the first time in two years after he left. He realized it, then. He wasn't emotionless, or numb, he was just too broken to feel.

.

* * *

.

_September 1, 1999_

He thought of Hogwarts on the first of September and wondered if it was even Hogwarts anymore at all. He knew nothing of the outside world, nothing besides the fact that it was still a living hell and that the Death Eaters were in power. That's all he really wanted to know.

He didn't want to hear who had died, or who had gotten injured. He didn't want to wonder if his father was involved. He didn't want to know much of anything in the outside world. He was here, and he was safe.

He didn't want to know of the other dangers because he figured that was already a danger to himself.

.

* * *

.

_October 15, 1999_

This was his first time going downstairs apart from meals.

He had been hearing sobbing and sniffling all morning and had wondered what the hell was going on, and he went to see Molly Weasley sobbing, the others gathered around her to comfort her. They all stared at him for a moment, their eyes questioning the way they always were when they looked at him. He kept a stoic expression on his face the whole time he stood there, and arched an eyebrow at them.

Molly Weasley came lunging at him then, pulling him into a tight hug, and he was unsure what to do. This was his first physical contact with anyone in months, and so it took him a minute for him to process. After that minute, he rather awkwardly returned the embrace.

"Oh, Draco," Molly croaked before crying again and pulling away. She flashed him a sad smile. "I'm just glad you aren't on their side anymore... and you tried so hard to save my husband that dreaded day. That's the only reason he pulled through."

"What's happened?" Draco questioned, furrowing his brow.

"But you don't talk," Blaise said, giving Draco an odd look. "You just sit around like some creepy robot with the occasional nod or shaking of your head."

"Well apparently I've regained the ability," Draco replied coolly.

"Enough, boys," Molly interjected. She sighed a long weary sigh and choked back a sob before she answered his question. "Ron's d-dead."

Draco looked down at the ground, unsure of exactly what to say to that. He had hated Ron Weasley, and there was no denying that. He was a complete idiot, and he was perhaps one of the most irritating people in Hogwarts. But he felt sorry for Mrs. Weasley, the kind and strong woman that cared about him. Then a dreaded question popped into his mind, and he gulped.

"Was - was my father involved?" he asked in a weak voice.

Molly looked rather uncomfortable. "I believe he was, yes. Hermione said he was. But he killed many others, too. Not just Ron," she paused at the expression on Draco's face. "Draco, you are not your father."

"I-I've got to go," he responded.

He ran back up the stairs and then into the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet and vomiting. He had to vomit when all the memories in the manor came back. The memories of watching him kill innocent people, often leaving blood splattered on the drawing room floor. He remembered watching him kill carelessly and ruthlessly in a battle. His father had no mercy, and perhaps that was what sickened him the most. But really, the most sickening part of it all was that Draco Malfoy was that man's son.

His aunt was dead. At least she was gone. He had found that out shortly after arriving to the cottage. At least he could have some peace in that.

And that was the saddest story he had ever told; that he, Draco Malfoy, wished his family dead without the slightest question of it.

That day he entered in the journal he had yet to use;

_I hope he's murdered. I hope he meets a worse fate than Voldemort himself. And I hope that I get to do it._

And Salazar forgive him, he meant it.

.

* * *

.

_October 21, 1999 (a day following Granger's arrival)_

The next morning, he had almost pressed snooze on his alarm clock, but then he remembered.

Draco had set his alarm early the night before simply so he could go down to breakfast. He was curious about Hermione Granger, and the fact that it was enough so to get out of bed only highlighted just how much curiosity he had. He wondered what had happened to her, and why she was here when it was so unlike her. He had wondered about her a lot since she had saved his life.

He rolled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and put on a pair of sweatpants and a cadet grey t-shirt. He had developed a tendency to sleep in only his boxers over the past year or so, but he never dared to come to breakfast in only that.

He made his way to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth and use the toilet, but he collided head-on with someone as he made his way to the door. He was rather surprised when he looked down and saw Granger. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm still half asleep."

She met his gaze, not saying a word. He studied her then and he realized how exhausted she looked. There were dark circles under her brown eyes and her once tan skin was a rather unhealthy pallid color.

"Are you alright?"

No response. Nothing.

"Granger, did you get any sleep last night?"

"I fail to see why that matters to you, Malfoy," she retaliated in a glacial tone. "I'd mind your own business."

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" he snapped. "I was being polite."

"Yeah, well I'm not going to be polite with you," she shrugged. "I'm just a _Mudblood_, right?"

"You are," he said. "You are a Mudblood, and you saved my life."

"Don't be nice with me," she hissed. "Your father told me exactly what I am."

"I'm not him."

"I see no difference," she said coldly, taking a step back from him.

He nodded, clenching his jaw. "Alright, well if you'd get the fuck out of the way I'd leave you alone and just take a piss."

She crinkled her nose before stepping out of the way and gesturing towards the bathroom. "You're disgusting."

"Well since I'm my father, Granger," he muttered, opening the door just to have eye contact as he said this. "You're repulsive."

.

A few minutes later, he went down to breakfast, careful to sit on the opposite side of Granger at the table. The tension in the room was thick, and unanswered questions of why she had showed up lingered in the air. Luna Lovegood was the first to clear her throat and speak. "Why are you here, Hermione?" she asked in a sweet tone of voice.

Granger swallowed and looked down at her pancakes. "I don't really want to talk about this right now, or ever, quite frankly."

Draco's eyes flickered down to her wrist where he knew the word 'Mudblood' lingered. He winced at the sight of it, and noticed a rather peculiar new word beside it; 'filthy'. The fact that it was his father made him want to vomit again, but he held onto the table, looking down to get his nausea under control. There were other word, too, but he couldn't read them from here.

When he looked back up, she looked at him coldly and knowingly and pulled her sleeve completely over the marks.

They glared daggers sharper than the ones that ever carved the words.

.

* * *

.

_October 24, 1999_

He was in the living room when he saw her enter the room and cross to the kitchen. It was the first time she'd come out of her room in three days. She had seemingly been careful to avoid people, because it was near midnight when she entered the room. He got up off the couch and watched her from the living room as she poured herself a glass of milk.

"Of course you're here," Granger muttered. "Just my luck."

"You must have good luck then," he drawled.

She scowled at him. "You'd have think some of your arrogance would've gone away when you realized you were too hated to even go out into battle. You ran like the coward you are."

"And do tell me, Granger," he licked his lower lip. "What is it that you're doing right now? You're hiding from your problems. You never struck me as the kind of person that would run."

"That's because you don't know me."

"No, I don't," he replied simply. "But I don't need to to know that you're stubborn and you fight for what you want. Don't you want to win the war?"

"It's none of your business why I left, for your information," she snapped. "Seeing as you neither care nor deserve to know."

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He was growing angry now. The witch was infuriating. But then he had a thought, the right wound to press. He smirked. "It had to do with the Weasel, didn't it?" Draco asked.

"Don't you dare bring Ron into this, you arrogant little git."

"I assure you, Granger," he was smirking wider now. "I'm anything but little. You might want to refer back to your dead boyfriend if you want little."

"You are a repulsive human being," she hissed under her breath. "I should've left you there to die."

"Yeah, and then you could've shagged Weasley in peace somewhere," he said smugly. "I never took you as one to have a fuck buddy, Granger but-

That was apparently enough to drive her over the edge, because she took three steps forward so they were face to face and slapped him across the face. "Listen hear, you git, what I did or didn't do with Ron isn't any of your business and you have no right to talk about things you don't know."

"Oh, she's angry now," he remarked, his expression amused.

"Well yes I'm angry, Malfoy," she shouted. "I haven't felt any emotion since he's died and then you come along and now the first thing I feel is absolute hatred and rage. I don't hate."

"You hate me," he stated.

"I hate you," she agreed. "But you're a special case there."

"Because I know how to draw a rise out of you, and because I'm an intellectual equal," he added. "Because you care desperately what I think of you because you don't want to be second best at anything."

"No, you want to know why I hate you Malfoy?"

"I know why you hate me. I just said it."

She pulled up her right sleeve. Her whole right arm was covered in words like 'Mudblood', 'Traitor', 'Filth, 'Dirty Blood', and seemingly every other synonym for Mudblood his father could think of.

His eyes scanned it and felt his pulse speed up and a surge of rage directed at his father run through his veins. "I didn't do this. I would never do this. How the bloody hell does this have anything to do with me?"

"Because in all the years I've known you, Malfoy, and for all the years I've had encounters with your father, you've shown that you are by no means different."

She glared at him for a moment before grabbing her glass of milk and walking off.

.

* * *

.

October 25, 1999

Everyone had gone down to the beach below the cottage except for him, Granger, and Lovegood. Molly Weasley had insisted that they play cards at the coffee table and only because of their deep gratitude and respect for Molly Weasley did they oblige.

Draco was winning in their current and ironic game of the card game 'War' and Granger was glaring at him from the other side of the couch. They were sitting as far away from each other as possible, and Lovegood had taken a seat on one of the living chairs beside the couch. She flipped over her last card and revealed a two, and Draco set down an eight. He cracked his knuckles and smirked. She scowled angrily at him.

"You're too uptight, Granger," he drawled. "You're acting like you've got a rod up your ass just because you're losing at a game of cards."

"I'm not pissed off over a game of cards," she spat, though there was a slight tint of coral at her cheeks. "And you're vulgar, I might add."

Luna Lovegood hummed. "You two always bicker. You shouldn't waste your energy on each other by harboring negativity."

"Well talk to _him_ about it then," Hermione pointed at him in an accusing manner. "He's walking negativity."

"Draco isn't that bad, Hermione. He has just been mislead, and he has been through his fair share of hardships," Luna countered quietly. "But I'm glad you are feeling something. I felt rather sad when you told me about how you felt completely numb the other day."

"Well, anger is the last emotion I need."

"Yeah, well welcome to my life, Granger," Draco let out a humorless bark of laughter.

"Maybe if you weren't such an argumentative asshole you wouldn't be angry at the world."

"Yeah, well maybe if you weren't-

"There are Nargles around," Luna announced, sighing. "Come on, let's play another game of cards."

Later that night he wrote down;

_She is the most infuriating witch I've ever known. Infuriating, but she's a mystery. A mystery that I intend to solve._

.

* * *

.

_October 26, 1999_

"What's new in the outside world, Molly?" he asked at breakfast as he put powdered sugar on his waffles. "How is the war?"

"No Muggleborns get into Hogwarts anymore. Slytherin is the only house," Molly answered tonelessly. "Every Muggleborn recorded on the list is killed as a baby, along with the parents. The Order is still fighting, but we're losing. They've got all the power. They've already won."

"Muggleborns are being killed?" Granger questioned, outraged. Everyone stared at her. This was the first time she had really said anything at a meal. "That's disgusting."

"It is," Dean Thomas agreed. Draco had known that Thomas was a Muggleborn, but often forgot. He had never really bothered teasing him all that much. It was mainly Granger. "But I'm not surprised. It's totally something that You-Know-Who would pull."

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. If this had all happened years ago, he would be happy that they were killing Mudbloods. That thought made him cringe. Why did he ever think that those people deserved to die? He had wished Granger dead in his second year.

Sure enough, Granger's eyes met his with an icy glare. "Yeah, I'm not surprised, either," she responded. "I suspect Lucius Malfoy does all the dirty work."

Molly Weasley shifted in her seat. "Well, now that everyone has their food, let's eat."

He didn't eat. He didn't think he could stomach it now that the thought that his father was probably out doing all of it haunting him.

.

* * *

.

_October 31, 1999_

Some of them were celebrating Halloween down at the beach, but Draco found that the monsters in his head were far more than enough to deal with. He sighed and put down his issue of the Daily Prophet to massage his temples. It was ten minutes to midnight, and his lack of sleep was catching up with him.

"You're not in costume," he heard Granger's voice say from across the room. He put down his newspaper and raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly said 'this is going to be interesting'.

"There are plenty of monsters in the world without us in costume, Granger," he replied simply.

She studied him before pouring herself a glass of milk and sitting at one of the stools at the kitchen counter. "You included," she muttered under her breath.

"Why are you so determined to hate me?" he questioned, meeting her gaze for a moment before she looked away. "You want to despise me. Why? Is it because of what my father did to you?"

She choked on her milk at that question, coughing for a few moments before swallowing, her eyes still watering. "I... Your father... Can we not talk about that? Whenever I think of him I think of Ron's death. It hurt."

"So you're just locking yourself away?" he raised his eyebrows. "You're Granger, not this empty shell you're acting like. You close yourself off from everyone and I have yet to see you smile or laugh or have any sort of expression, really."

"Yes, Malfoy, I'm locking myself away," she answered, exasperation in her tone. "And I've had no reason to smile or laugh in the past few days, if you haven't taken notice."

"You say I'm a coward," he muttered, grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from the pantry. "Why do you lock it all away? Why do you hide?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and made an odd grimace-like expression. "It's just... it's easier that way, alright?"

"So you take the easy way out, then?"

"No."

"You do," he argued.

"Are you calling me a coward?" she snapped, opening her eyes and glaring at him.

"Yeah, maybe I am," he answered harshly.

"Don't you dare call me a coward, Draco Malfoy," she warned, taking a step toward him. "I am not a coward."

"Well isn't that what you are?" he replied. "You call me a coward when you are doing the exact same thing. You lock yourself in your room and try to pretend you're okay when in reality, you're just as broken as everyone else. It's bloody pathetic."

"You don't know what the fuck I've been through in my life. You've had it nothing but easy, being right inside your father's wealthy sleeve and-

He cut her off with the cruelest laugh she had ever heard. "Tell me, Granger, have you been taunted and put under the Cruciatus Curse because you have the decency not to be able to kill another human being? Have you watched your father kill innocent people just for the fun of it? Have you watched him torture your mother, the only one that stood up for you? Have you watched your own mother die? Not physically, no. She hasn't died physically. But she's a walking and talking corpse if you ask me. Have you been tortured because you broke a fucking wine glass on accident-

"Let me tell you something, Mal-

"I am _not_ finished," he shouted, seething with rage. "Do you know how guilty I was for calling you a Mudblood-

"That's rubbish!" she burst out laughing. "You don't feel guilt at all much less-

"Interrupt me _one_ more fucking time, Granger" he uttered darkly. "Do you know how guilty I was for calling you a Mudblood when I watched Bellatrix carve that word into your skin? Do you know how guilty I am for basically killing a kind old man like Dumbledore, and for watching everyone around me murder people without doing shit about it? I live with this fucking guilt every day. Every. Fucking. Day. That's why I don't come out of my room. What's your excuse? What have you been through that's so nasty?"

She was speechless. Draco Malfoy wasn't even Malfoy in that moment. He looked murderous; it seemed he could drop his decency and murder her there on the spot. His face was red, tendons in his neck bulging, jaw locked and fists clenched so hard his fingernails were probably drawing blood. So she said the only thing she could say.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," she hissed venomously. "Go drown in all your fucking guilt so the world is rid of you. Everyone would be better off."

"And you think I don't know that?" he raised his eyebrows, talking quietly now, but with just as much rage his yelling. "But to hear it from Hermione Granger. Sweet, pure, Hermione Granger is gone, isn't she? Tell me, did the purity leave when you left the Weasel? Maybe you did the deed with Potter too?"

She surprised him then. She pushed him so hard he fell backwards into the table, knocking it over and falling down onto his arse.

He stared up at her, his lips parted with shock. "Who are you?"

"Figure it out yourself," she said coolly.

She walked away after that, secretly thinking that she can't figure it out anymore.

He needed the last word, so before she had left the room completely, he shouted at her. "You think you're pretty scary on Halloween, don't you Granger?"

.

That night at 3 o'clock in the morning he wrote;

_I can't figure out what's happened to her, if she is even the same person and not someone else under Polyjuice Potion. Or perhaps today someone chose to be her as a costume. That would make more sense than it actually being her._

_But then again, she still slapped me in third year. And she was Granger then._

_I'm determined to break her down, and to find out what the bloody hell did this to her. She doesn't even seem alive anymore. The Granger I knew would've never hidden away. She would've openly expressed all her emotions as publicly as possible, just like every other Gryffindor._

_She doesn't get an ounce of sleep. I can hear her singing in the shower from here. She sounds bloody terrible. She looks bloody terrible; not by her natural features, Merlin no. There is no problem there. She's actually quite easy on the eyes. She just looks terrible because she seems to be wasting away. She looks more like my mother did right before she became an empty shell._

_I am saving Granger from becoming that, because she saved me. I'm going to work my way in and make her angry just so she can feel something and let it out. Because my fate was death, but what she is heading for is worse than death._

.

* * *

.

_November 1, 1999_

He could feel her glaring at him all of breakfast, and saw her smirk just once when she saw the bruise on his elbow. She approached him after they are done eating, as if wanting to say anything.

"I'm not sorry, you know," she said matter-of-factly.

"I'm not either," he replied. "You didn't need to tell me that for me to know. So why are you wasting your time talking to me when you could be wasting away in your bedroom?"

"Because you'd be right if I did that," she smiled slyly. "You said I don't talk to anyone. I talked to someone, and now I can go waste away in my bedroom without having the fact I let you be right on my conscious."

.

Draco didn't want to let her be right about him either, now that she had found a loophole in his accusation. He sat beside Blaise in front of the box with the moving pictures and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. He felt the air shift in the room and felt Blaise tense on the couch.

"What's this thing called again?" he questioned, furrowing his brow at it.

"A television," Blaise answered. "You can call it a TV for short."

"A TB?" Draco inaccurately repeated, not sure if he had heard right.

"No, a TV. How the fuck did you forget that when you hear people talking about the thing all the time?"

"Because I've never bothered with this thing and didn't want to seem stupid asking what it was," he shrugged. "Go easy on me, someone only told me what the thing is when I arrived here eighteen months ago."

"You count the months too?" Blaise raised his eyebrows.

"There's nothing better to do when you shut yourself inside your room all day. I just make little tally marks in this journal thing I have."

Blaise nodded. "Ah."

Draco hesitated for a moment. "So what the hell happened to Granger?"

"Beats me," Blaise gave Draco an odd look. "She hates me almost as much as she hates you. Why would she tell me?"

"I thought someone else might have told you what happened."

"No one knows what happened except for her, not even Molly," Blaise took another sip of his firewhiskey. "There are only rumors. I think a lot of it is that she's seen what we've all seen. She's always cared way too much about humanity. There was no humanity in the war. Watching others die was probably enough to break her. And then she watched Weasley die. She lost her two best friends within a year. That alone would screw anyone up."

"My room is next to hers," Draco mused. "She cries a lot. I hear her through the walls. She's turned into Moaning bloody Myrtle."

"She's healing," Blaise remarked.

"Is she?"

The two sat in silence for a long while before Blaise got up to go to bed. "Goodnight, Draco," he said. "It was nice talking to you when you're not being an arse. But I have one question before I go; why did you come to me to talk about Granger?"

"I'm saving her," Draco responded. "I'm saving her because she saved me. I also wanted to ask about her because she pushed me into the dining room table yesterday so hard that I broke it when I fell. I had to repair it with magic."

Blaise full out laughed his whole way up the stairs.

"It's not funny, you bastard!" he called after his confidant.

.

He lay awake that night. He couldn't sleep with the sound of her muffled sobs. He damned the thin walls of the house repeatedly in his mind.

The more he listened, the more he thought his new mission to save her was impossible. She was broken. Hermione Granger had cracked.

War did that; war cracks even the strongest spirits, particularly those who care so much about the rights of others. There are no rights in a war, particularly that one. There is no right to live, to breathe, to do anything, because you aren't the only one on the line.

He wasn't sure what had happened to her, but he was beginning to think that she couldn't be fixed; especially by him. She loathed him, and besides...

Draco Malfoy was just as broken himself.

.

* * *

.

_Author's Note_

Yes, this is why I haven't updated Hardest of Hearts in forever. I just got this idea and I had to write it. I'm evil for writing two fics at once because I'll probably put one above the other but oh well. I realize that Bellatrix died in the Final Battle, but I'm keeping her alive for later scenes. Besides, Harry didn't die in the book either. Also, I know Voldemort's soul was too weak to be split but it's an AU so don't give me any grief for changing things a little bit.

Well, yeah.

I will update HoH soon, I'm working on the chapter as we speak, but go easy on me. I'm on summer break and my friend has been staying with me for the majority of summer so far.

Well I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	2. Uninhibited

Chapter II - Uninhibited

_November 2, 1999_

Draco awoke with a start, practically jumping out of bed and leaning up against the wall, till breathing heavily. Of course he had to have a nightmare like that; though it wasn't unexpected. The fact that his father had tortured Granger had been on his mind all of last, so much so that he dreamt about it.

"Bloody hell," he rasped, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He was still rather groggy, but his memory of his dreams was still vivid. He had seen his father torture enough for his dreams to be realistic, and the dreams recurred far too often for his liking. Lucius Malfoy had become less forgiving with each passing year, and now he was almost as ravenous for pain and suffering as his sister-in-law.

He looked to the clock, which read 9 o'clock in the morning. He shook his head and groaned at the fact that breakfast wouldn't be ready for another hour. He threw on a shirt, ran his hands through his air and walked down the stairs to wait. He was sure that only Mrs. Weasley would be up, but he was wrong. Granger was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. He took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, leaving two cushions in between them just so they weren't too close.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at him from the kitchen. He nodded in acknowledgement but didn't reply.

He turned his head to look at Granger, who seemed to be trying quite hard not to look at him at all. He studied her, and after a moment she glared at him. "What are you looking at, Malfoy?"

"Not you," he stated.

"Am I too _filthy_ for your eyes to handle?"

He got up, nodding coldly, but not in agreement, and heading up to his room.

.

At dinner, he had that guilt again, and it was drowning him.

Draco had always felt responsible for his father's actions, and he had always felt like he could've stopped him and taken the evil out of his soul; ever since he was a little boy. But by the age of thirteen he had given up completely. His father had no soul. He was like a dementor; he drained other people's happiness to feed his own cruel need for oppression and sadness everywhere around him.

Lucius Malfoy was a cold, hard man with a need for absolute power. He needed control so much, that he was willing to torture not only innocent people, but his own wife and child as well. Draco thought he believed in Blood Status simply because it gave him an excuse to have more hatred in his heart.

Draco had considered killing him ever since his fifth year. He had _fantasized_ about it, even. Taking the life of his father had come up when he had come home to a murdered and bloody Muggle family sprawled out on the drawing room floor, the etches of a scream still lingering in the toddler's face. She was a girl no more than five, and she had lived her last moments like that.

Draco Malfoy was a selfish person, and had never really wanted to do anything for others. But that day, the desire completely overcame him. He had twiddled his wand in his fingers thinking about it all night, not getting a blink of sleep. Only death was a suitable punishment for a man that had killed so many. Perhaps insanity from torture would be worse, but then he would still exist. His mother, him and god knows how many others were in danger as long as Lucius Malfoy's heart of stone remained beating. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that he would be filled with self-hatred for the rest of his life if he did it.

But he regretted it now.

He regretted it because after he had seen the deep wounds on Granger, both physical and emotional, he knew if he had killed his father that night, the skin on her arm would be as flawless as the rest of her skin, and she wouldn't be the empty shell she was these days. She would still be the fierce, generous, and happy know-it-all he knew in school.

It hit him that she might not even be the same then. Blaise was right when he had said that witnessing such lack of humanity would ruin someone as caring and righteous as her. Hell, it had even ruined a part of Draco. It had destroyed some part of everyone, whether it be their morals, soul or emotion, a hole was always left, and the only new thing that it left was trauma.

Draco looked over at Granger, who was barely touching her plate at all. His stomach fluttered unpleasantly as unpleasant images of his father torturing her and carving words into her skin ran through his mind. The man that had created him had done it, so he felt a part of him was responsible, somehow. He thought of the others too, but he didn't feel as much guilt towards them as he did towards Granger. Perhaps it was because he had known Granger for so long, or that Granger had saved his life, or that she was sitting in this room with him, or that she was so strong and humane that she didn't deserve it.

Whatever it was, it was there.

He almost wanted to apologize to her. But he couldn't. He couldn't let her win this battle between them. She would probably laugh and push him into the table again, anyways.

And with good reason.

.

"How am I supposed to apologize to her when she doesn't even want to hear me out?" he questioned Molly Weasley later that night.

"Who? Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows, obviously caught off guard.

If this was anyone else, and if it was someone he didn't harbor a great deal of respect for, he would've replied with some smartass sarcastic comment. "Yeah."

"Give her time," she answered the question after a short period of deep thought. "But you don't have to tell you're sorry to show her, Draco."

"Well, that'll be hard," he let out a small bark of laughter.

Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"She pisses me off!" he replied bluntly. "I mean, she's just such a pain in the ass! She can't go five seconds in the same room as me without picking a fight or pushing me into a bloody table!"

"I think I heard about that," Mrs. Weasley mused.

"Well, it's true. She just can't go a second without attacking me for what I've done! How am I supposed to show her my remorse when she's in my face all the time?"

"Just give her time, Draco, and she'll come around."

He snorted. "Right. And how do you know she will?"

"Because eventually Hermione will see that you've changed; the same way that everyone else in this house has."

Mrs. Weasley patted him on the back then, but the conversation only lead him to think of even more unanswerable questions.

.

* * *

.

_November 3, 1999_

Draco Malfoy had never been a morning person, particularly when he had gotten a restless sleep the night before and was woken up by loud laughter from downstairs. He groaned and folded his pillow around his head to cover his ears. But there was nothing saving him from the noise, particularly since he was, and had always been, a very light sleeper.

So instead of returning into a blissful, unaware state of sleep, he pulled himself up from under the covers and threw on the first tank top and first pair of pants he could find on the floor. He didn't bother gussying himself up, as he had enough self awareness to know that he would be attractive regardless of his state. If there was one thing he liked about himself, it was that his physical appearance had never failed him. He walked downstairs, smirking just like in the old days.

"Morning, Draco," Blaise greeted, grinning smugly. Blaise, much resembling his old self as well in this situation, had his arm wrapped around Cho Chang. "Everyone's been awake for over an hour."

He scanned the room, searching for Granger, and indeed there she was. She was not in the dining room, but through the arch that led to the study. Of course. He walked through, and Blaise's expression became quite satisfied and knowing.

He took a seat across the room from Granger, who only acknowledged him with a cold glare before turning back to her reading.

"Some things haven't changed, then," he chuckled under his breath.

"No, they haven't," she agreed, which surprised him, until she continued. "I see you're still the same nosy, self-satisfied git you were in school."

"Some things haven't changed, then," he repeated, smirking wider.

"You're disturbing my peace, Malfoy," she narrowed her eyes. "I suggest you leave."

"I'll do whatever the hell I'd like, thanks. Perhaps I'm studying as well," he shrugged, crossing his arm and leaning back into his chair with ease.

"And what would you be studying?"

"The only thing in this room that I haven't figured out," he replied, licking his teeth. "Why the fuck you act like you've got the Elder Wand up your arse."

She slammed her book shut and looked dead at him, raising her eyebrows. "So you're still as crude and pathetic as ever, I see."

"Yeah and you're still as high on your fucking high horse."

"Or perhaps you're just low."

"I came in here to be nice to you, Granger," he clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "To make up my years of torment through actions rather than words."

"Well, you failed, as usual."

He glowered at her. "I'm trying to pretend I'm a nice person, and you're not making it very easy for me."

"Or perhaps you're just too cold-hearted to even pass as a nice person."

"Maybe," he shrugged, getting up and making his way out of the study. "It was as pleasurable speaking with you as ever, Granger."

She couldn't help but let out a reluctant laugh at that.

.

Draco wasn't sure when he began to build a friendship with Luna bloody Lovegood of all people, but it was only later that evening did he realize it. He was sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the backyard, and she had taken a seat in the one beside him. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"So you're curious, then?" Luna questioned in her usual sing song voice.

Draco furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"You're curious about her," Lovegood mused. "You stare at her a lot, you know."

"Glare, really," he corrected.

"Sometimes," Lovegood agreed. "But not usually. Usually you just look like you're concentrating hard on studying something, like a potions project."

"A bloody frustrating and haughty one, apparently. Granger won't even give me the time of day."

"She doesn't hate you," she said quietly. "She hates the situation, so she takes her hate out on someone to release some tension. Too much hate pent up inside can be dangerous."

"Oh believe me," he responded tonelessly. "I know."

She thought for a moment. "You know, you don't really hate her either, Draco."

_Dammit._

Lovegood always had a way of noticing things that others missed. Her bluntness always surprised him. When he had first spoken with her, the day of his arrival, she'd told him he didn't have to hate everything in the world. He had stared for a few moments, stunned, before nodding and replying, 'Don't I, though?'

She was a very fine example of the line between madness and genius.

She continued, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "I think you two feel like you need to hate each other because you're afraid."

"Me, afraid of Granger?" he let out a bark of laughter. "What the hell would we be afraid of, anyways?"

"You both don't like yourselves, much-

"Oh believe me, I think _Granger_ likes herself plenty," he muttered.

She ignored him. "And if you two were to find that you liked each other, it would be a contradiction to your own self-loathing. You two are almost a mirror image of each other when it comes to your personalities."

"I take offense to that," he remarked. "And I'm practically a walking paradox as it is. I wouldn't be afraid of adding another. A Death Eater who hates war."

"You aren't a Death Eater anymore, Draco," Lovegood countered softly. "You've redeemed yourself."

"I haven't done that much."

"You've done more than you know," she hummed, retreating back inside as she said it.

His thoughts lingered on the discussion for at least an hour.

.

Granger took a seat beside him at the dinner table, but only because it was the last one. He would've expected her to just go back upstairs and get leftovers when everyone else was done, but Granger never really did what people expected of her.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she glared in response. "I thought you would've refused to take a seat," he muttered so only she could hear.

"Well I certainly considered it," she smirked, speaking in the same low tone.

He snorted. "Are you afraid of the big, bad, Slytherin, Granger?"

"You're tall, but you're not exactly _'big'_, Malfoy," she whispered. "I'm not scared of you."

And though he knew she was referring to his muscles, it was his turn to smirk. "Some women would beg to differ."

She made a face and pushed her plate slightly further away from herself. "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

"Be a little more mature."

"You're the one making phallic joke at the dinner table."

"I wasn't joking."

"What are you two whispering about?" Mrs. Weasley questioned. "Please don't tell me you're bickering again."

They remained silent for the rest of the meal, but silence certainly didn't stop Granger from scowling at him.

.

It was late, and Draco wasn't quite sure of the time, but when he went downstairs Granger was sitting in front of the television set. He approached cautiously, stopping a few feet away from her.

She looked up at him and gestured to the couch. "You're going to bother me even if I don't invite you to sit down."

He narrowed his eyes at the couch cushion beside her own and then at her. "What have you done to it?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not an idiot, Granger," he let out a bark of laughter.

"George did it, actually," she smirked. "It'll turn your arse purple."

He raised his eyebrows. "So naturally, you asked me to sit on it."

"Naturally," she agreed, shrugging.

"How Slytherin of you," he drawled.

She wrinkled her face as though a Dungbomb had just gone off. "Don't even joke about that, Malfoy."

"Whatever you say, Granger."

"Why are you messing with me, anyways?" she questioned.

"I'm bored," he said passively.

"Go to sleep then," she made a shooing gesture.

"I'd rather make your life a living hell," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes and muttered. "Surprise, surprise."

"Have I gained any points in your book for this civil conversation, Granger?"

"You'll never gain any points in my book, Malfoy."

.

_November 4, 1999_

Draco knew something was wrong the moment he walked down the staircase. The atmosphere was of mourning and hopelessness; which he had felt enough of to know. His intuition was confirmed the moment he saw Mrs. Weasley and George holding each other and sobbing. The others looked close to tears, everyone was gathered besides Granger.

But she showed up soon enough, walking in only a minute after Draco. "What happened?" she asked softly.

Mrs. Weasley let out a loud cry before answering. "Arthur's been killed."

Granger gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes at Draco. "By who? Lucius Malfoy?"

They gave no answer, but Granger knew. She looked completely enraged and full of hatred.

Mrs. Weasley spoke the words Draco knew but didn't want to hear. "Yes. He was tortured for days before he was finally put out of his misery," Mrs. Weasley wailed and sniffled. "I'm losing my whole family."

She stared at Molly for a few long moments before she approached Draco and grabbed him by his shirt, getting in his face. "I am sick of your father murdering everyone I care about!"

"Well what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?" he shouted, shoving her hands off of his chest.

"I don't know! But it's _your_ father, an it's your responsibility to get rid of him!"

"You act like I never considered it," he uttered darkly. "Well I did. Fantasized about it, even. You have no fucking idea the twisted thoughts that go through my head when it comes to that, Granger. No fucking idea."

She pulled up her sleeve, showing everyone the wounds for the first time. They were only scars now, faint but still legible, and slightly whiter than the rest of her skin. Many of the housemates gasped. "Don't I?"

"Don't blame me for this," Draco hissed. "I don't have control over my father's actions."

"You don't have remorse for them either, Malfoy. You're probably jumping with joy on the inside."

He laughed coldly. "So you think I'm prejudiced, Granger? Don't act like you know who I am! But I know who _you _are, Granger. Everyone does. You're an arrogant bitch who thinks she can boss everyone around and thinks she has the right to judge everyone just because she has slightly above average intelligence."

"Really? Well you are a prejudiced little bastard and you are pathetic and small and you're probably just _longing_ to go back and join your daddy instead of spying for him. Him and mummy will kill a Mudblood as a welcome back present and then you'll go wank off to it. Isn't that what your lot is doing nowadays? Getting off on corpses of Muggleborns?"

"Go to hell!" he roared. "Fucking burn there too, while you're at it! I'd hope the fucking Mudblood was you! Are you happy you get to be right, Granger? Are you fucking dying of how righteous and above me you are because you're right about something?"

They stood in silence for a moment. Everyone in the room was standing there, stunned, but they were too busy holding each other's fiery gazes. They were both breathing heavily, faces red with rage.

"I'm going to fucking _murder_ you, Malfoy," she uttered, barely more than a breath.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Granger came at him, slamming him against the wall and striking him repeatedly in the face. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her away from him rough enough that she almost fell down to the floor. He could see blood on his shirt, and his pure blood covered her fists.

"That is _enough_!" Mrs. Weasley screeched. "To your rooms, both of you!"

Mrs. Weasley released Granger, but they glared at each other up until they simultaneously opened the door handles to their bedrooms and did exactly what Mrs. Weasley asked.

Neither of them came downstairs for the rest of the day.

.

_November 5, 1997_

He knew she felt guilty the moment she sat beside him after lunch the next day. She hadn't been there, though. She had sneaked her way back into the kitchen once everyone else had finished eating to save herself some dignity.

She cleared her throat rather awkwardly. "Hi."

"Hello, dear," Draco drawled, not looking at her.

"I'm sorry," Granger blurted. "I was angry-

"I think I figured that part out for myself," he shrugged, still not looking over at her. He could feel her gaze, though. "You throw a painful punch, Granger. Even more so than you did in third year."

"You've got a bruise," she smirked, pointing at the right side of his nose. "Right there."

"Hilarious," he muttered bitterly.

"I think it's funny."

"Who knew you had such a dark side? Or am I the only one?"

"Well, I suppose everyone knows after yesterday," she sighed.

"Suppose you're right, Granger."

.

She approached him for the second time of the day in the emptied kitchen after dinner. She bit her lip before she spoke, and he looked at her this time. She really was a sight for sore eyes; her eyes a light brown and her curls a rich auburn. Her features were small and almost angelic, and yet fierce at the same time, just like her personality. He tried not to linger on her lips, but her teeth were white and straight, and her lips were a light peach.

He snapped out of his Granger-induced daze once she cleared her throat again. She seemed to do that a lot in uncomfortable situations.

"Would you really want me to die, Malfoy?" she asked, seemingly anxious. "I-I know you despise me, but do you really wish me dead? I just don't like to think that someone is capable of hating me that much."

"No," he answered the moment she had finished speaking. "You must really hate me, Granger."

"Yeah," she nodded. "But that's not an excuse for how I acted yesterday."

He chuckled under his breath, and she frowned.

"What?" she asked.

"You _noble_ fucking _Gryffindors_," he said, a great deal more before leaving the room.

.

_November 6, 1999_

They all looked at her differently now. Draco saw it whenever she entered a room. It was not a negative change, but they all knew how mad she'd gone now. And as he watched her eat her pancakes, he noticed the others watching her too. Granger was a walking mystery to all of them.

She was simply a stranger in a familiar body.

But Draco saw some similarities between war Granger and school Granger. Perhaps he knew her the best out of anyone there, despite the fact that they had always had a relationship dependant and founded on hostility.

"She's changed, hasn't she?" Chang questioned once Granger had left the room again.

"Not much," Draco replied simply, and Lovegood smiled at him and nodded in firm agreement.

.

She refused to come out of her room; Draco theorized that it was perhaps from embarrassment of the uninhibited and animalistic behavior she had exhibited two days prior. But regardless of the reason, Draco did not see her anywhere in the house for three days.

.

_November 9, 1999_

She came out of her hiding when it was just passed one o'clock in the morning, and it was barely November the ninth at all. She joined him in the living room to watch television. For a half an hour, neither of them dared to speak, not wanting to break the peace.

"Long time no see," Draco raised his eyebrows at her.

"Still not long enough," she replied sourly.

"I might agree with you on that," he shrugged and allowed himself a smirk. She glared at it. "Too afraid to face what they might think?"

She sighed heavily. "I'm mortified, Malfoy," she admitted, staring up at the ceiling. "The way they looked at me... They looked at me like I was a complete stranger; and an insane one at that."

"Yeah, well, everyone's a little insane, Granger," he grinned at her reassuringly.

"But they were judging me."

"I know. And I always knew you noble Gryffindors had a judgmental side," Draco chuckled under his breath and gestured to her. "I learned it from the best."

"You of all people can not talk about being judgmental," she snapped. "I'm a Mudblood, remember? You called me that for all six of the unfortunate years I had to spend with you."

"Don't reprimand me, Granger," he warned. "Have you lost your sense of humor? I was joking."

"You try so hard to provoke me and-

"You haven't exactly been a kind saint towards me in the past few weeks, either," he reminded her.

She pursed her lips. "It didn't sound like a joke, but perhaps you're just not very funny."

"Not bloody likely," he countered.

"Yeah, your life is a joke," she smiled smugly.

He scowled at her. "I was speaking with you in a conversational manner and you pounced down my throat! I'm trying to be friendly! You always have to screech at me like some banshee."

"Because you piss me off to earn all the screeching I do around you."

"So much anger's isn't good for a person, Granger," he drawled.

"Yes, because your anger is so well controlled."

"Sometimes you've just got to let things go," he murmured, meeting her gaze. "It helps let off some steam."

"I'm trying," she sighed.

"It's not working."

She rolled her eyes. "No need to point out the obvious, Malfoy."

"On the contrary, Granger, I think you need to hear it from someone besides yourself to reinforce it more," he responded. "Are you ever going to tell anyone what happened?"

"War happened," she whispered, a tear dripping down her cheek.

"Same here."

They remained silent after that, but didn't leave the room for another two hours. It was calming to both of them, somehow.

.

The morning of November ninth was rainy and foggy, the sea wild and untamed. But Draco liked the rain. He liked the feeling of raindrops falling onto his skin and he liked seeing his breath in the air. He went on a reflective walk in it after he had finished eating breakfast. He didn't have a particular destination in mind, he just wanted to walk.

He felt alive for a beautiful hour; crisp wind and cold rain turning his otherwise pearl colored skin a light pink, and the sound of the rain making him feel almost alive.

He had almost forgotten that simple pleasures like this existed at all. With all the negativity and oppression in the world, it was sometimes hard to remember. But it was moments like this when he was happy to be alive.

.

His calm mood vanished the moment he entered the house. The whole household went dead silent as though they had been discussing something. Mrs. Weasley had rushed to hide something, which he had quickly snatched out of her hands in her attempt.

The Daily Prophet was what it was, and the front page bore the title:

**'Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic (appointed by the Dark Lord himself), helps society by killing twelve more troublesome Mudbloods'**

Draco's heart jumped into his throat, and he felt a stab of pain in his chest. He would never get used to the feeling he got when he realized he was related to that man. He set the newspaper down on the coffee table, his hands shaky.

He looked up at them, and they all seemed to be trying to read his expression. Mrs. Weasley looked sympathetic, and Blaise Zabini wore the same stoic expression that Draco wore now; the one in which a person looked calm, but if you look hard enough, they look as though they are about to break down.

"What happened to you?" Draco questioned. struggling to keep his voice steady.

Blaise picked up the Prophet and turned to one of the pages towards the middle before handing it back to Draco. "See for yourself." Draco looked down at it, reading the title:

**'Fourteen year old Kyndra Zabini put into one of the Dark Lord's top ranked brothels. Father, Antonio Zabini speaks out about his pride in his daughter.'**

"He's turning fourteen year old into common whores?" Draco asked, appalled. "Your sister doesn't want this at all."

"I know," Blaise mumbled, his voice quivering.

Granger cleared her throat. "Malfoy, Blaise, I-

"Think we deserve it?" Draco snarled. "Don't start that shit right now! How the bloody hell do you think we feel? Do you think we're proud of our fucked up fathers? Well here's news to you, Granger, it's-

"Actually, I was going to apologize to both of you for what's happening," she interjected in an icy tone. "But I can rephrase, if you'd like, Malfoy. I'm sorry, Blaise. But I couldn't give a damn about you, Malfoy."

"Well, the feeling's mutual, darling," Draco jeered.

She left the cottage then, slamming the door behind her.

"You two can't go a minute without having a go at each other," George Weasley muttered.

"Yeah, thanks for the unnecessary comment, Weasley."

"I'm sorry too, you know," Lovegood murmured.

"Too? Granger isn't sorry for me at all," he made a scoffing noise at the very thought of it.

"She is," Luna said firmly. "She just doesn't know how to show it to someone she's supposed to despise."

He wanted to argue, but the more he thought, the more he knew Lovegood was right. Because Granger had enough compassion to save his life when no one else would have, and Granger had enough sweetness in her massive bleeding heart to care for anyone.

He had business to attend to, for now, though, because he had just realized that Blaise Zabini had fled the room and retreated into his own.

.

He didn't knock on the door. He didn't feel the need, and when he walked into Blaise's room, he wasn't surprised by what he saw. Blaise Zabini was always someone who put up a brave face to the world, but broke down behind closed doors.

"Everything out there's fucked up," Blaise snarled, kicking his desk over. "Everything! My little sister... She's out there being forced to let any Death Eater use her body in whatever way they like!"

"Try not to think about it and-

"How can I not think about it?" he bellowed. "She's out there being raped by those disgusting little fuckers and my dad's probably out having a good laugh!"

"I know how you feel," Draco said quietly.

"No, you don't!" Blaise yelled. "You don't give a damn about anyone besides yourself! You don't know how it feels to hurt for someone else!"

Draco licked his teeth and clenched his jaw before he turned to leave the room.

Blaise let out a choked sob. "I-I didn't mean it like that, Draco. Don't go."

Draco still didn't turn around, he just stilled his steps for a moment. "You meant it like that. I'm not angry. But just tell me, who on earth has given me a single reason to care for them?"

"Granger," Blaise answered instantly.

That reply gave Draco a lot to think about, to say the least.

.

"I'm sorry about your father," she murmured. Statements like these always seemed to be Granger's version of an apology; subtle yet clear. "You aren't responsible, you know."

He looked at her with disbelief and arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Did I hear you wrong?"

"No, Malfoy," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

He studied for a moment, his lips twitching into a small smile before he murmured his reply.

"I know, Granger."

"We should go inside... Lunch is probably ready," she suggested.

"Sure," he agreed.

"Yeah."

Draco thought or a moment before clearing his throat and kicking his feet at the ground awkwardly. "It's okay, Granger."

"Thank you," she whispered.

.

He thought about their relationship for a while, and he came to the conclusion that he didn't hate Granger. He couldn't hate her anymore. She had saved his life, and she had shown him all sides of herself, whether she knew it or not. She would always hate him, that was given fact.

But he didn't think he would ever be able to return the hate anymore. Because Hermione Granger was near impossible to hate, and he'd forgotten all his reasons why he should hate her in the first place.

.

Author's Note

The obvious controversial thing is going to be the fact that Draco shoved her back, but in his defense he was only getting her off of him and defending himself. I think he has a right to that.

This is going to turn into a War fic after a few chapters, I think. I like writing War fics. This one will be a lot different, and a lot darker, than Greys, though. Mainly it'll be about Hermione's healing and Draco's redemption. Blaise will be one of the main side characters, though. I'm alternating between updating this and updating Hardest of Hearts so sorry if I'm not very quick.

Chapters will be 5k - 8k words, depending on where I think a good stopping point is, and how many scenes I feel are necessary for the chapter.

Well yeah, brief explanation for what lies ahead.

(Changing the title, too, but I'm not sure what I'm changing it to yet)


	3. Truce

Chapter III - Truce

_November 10, 1999_

"Did you hear there's a new paper called 'The Phoenix' about what's going on in our side?" Dean Thomas asked everyone over breakfast. "We aren't in the dark so much anymore."

"What's it for, to give us a closer look on how badly we're losing?" Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, Thomas, I'm not sure anyone really wants to know anymore."

"Yeah, because you want to just believe the only suffering that exists in the world is yours," Thomas snapped, glaring at Draco. "I thought you all might want to know. I found a copy on our coffee table today. Molly must have left it for us before she went out on a walk. Why don't you join her so we don't have to deal with you, Malfoy?"

"I agree with Malfoy, actually," Granger remarked from across the table. Draco's eyes met hers, questioning. "I don't think it'll give anyone any peace of mind knowing all the casualties."

"It's better than being in the dark," Lovegood countered quietly. "We know what we're up against this way."

"But none of us are even fighting," Draco protested. "So why do we need to hear any of it? We all know our side is bloody doomed."

"I highly doubt we're on the same side as you, Malfoy," George Weasley sneered. "You hardly seem concerned about the fact that the Order's failing."

"Don't fucking start this again, Weasley," Draco warned, narrowing his eyes. "If you're bored, look elsewhere for entertainment."

"Do we really need to be arguing?" Granger groaned, and Lovegood nodded in agreement. "There's enough of an argument going on in the world without ours. We can't turn against each other or it'll just make everything worse."

"How could anything possibly be worse?" Blaise argued in a gloomy tone. "We're in hiding, everyone's getting killed, we haven't got the faintest idea of what's happening, we don't actually want to know it's happening because it's all so bad, and we're all depressed bastards."

"All of you Slytherins love being downers," Creevey rolled his eyes.

"Well you cry yourself to sleep every night, Creevey, so I fail to see how we're the downers in this situation," Blaise pointed out.

"That's - that's different," Creevey stuttered. "My brother Colin just died and-

"Oh boo fucking hoo," Blaise snarled. "My sister's being used as the Dark Lord's whore and Draco's own father has been murdering innocent people. How do you think we feel? If anything, we've got it worse."

"No one has it worse than anyone," Lovegood mused quietly. Everyone looked over at her, because even her quiet spoken thoughts were always worth listening to. "There are different kinds of pain, and none of them are quite the same as others."

No one argued on the matter after that.

.

Him and Blaise sat in silence on the patio, the only sound the roaring of the ocean and the pounding of the rain. They had both sought refuge here rather than eating dinner with all the people in the cottage.

Blaise was the first to break the silence in a cracked, broken voice. "Everything has gone to shit."

"No need to point out the obvious, mate," Draco let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Everyone knows how much of a downer things are right now."

Blaise shrugged, running his tongue across his lower lip before he spoke. "Let's go for a walk, Draco."

Draco nodded, walking beside Blaise. It was cold, the wind nipped at his skin. Sure, he could cast a shield charm around himself for warmth, but he always liked the feeling of the wind. He huddled in his jacket, staying silent until they reached the beach and took a seat in the wet sand.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Blaise asked, looking out at the dark horizon.

"Sometimes," Draco replied quietly. "I just don't know if there _is_ one, really."

"I like to think there is," Blaise shrugged. Draco can see his teeth chattering, and it is only then does he realize he himself is shivering. "It's nice to have something to look forward to, I think. It gives me some peace of mind."

"I don't think I'd have anything to look forward to," Draco mumbled. "My father's disowned me, the Wizarding World would be in ruins, I'd have nowhere to live, most of the people I knew would be dead… What would be the point?"

"You'd create things of your own, I think."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Like?"

"Do you want children, Draco?"

"Does that really matter?" he rolled his eyes.

"Do you think that you'll end up having them?" Blaise pressed.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and let out a shaky and tired breath. "I wouldn't curse my presence upon something as innocent as a child. No one would want to have me as a father."

And Merlin, he meant it. He had always thought that, ever since he had taken the mark. He saw what damage that darkness had inflicted upon his family He didn't want to be the reason for anyone else. He didn't want to be the cause of anyone's misery.

"Do you think you'll have a wife, at least?"

Draco swallowed, meeting Blaise's eyes. "No one would want me as their lover, either."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want a mopey git as my lover," Blaise chuckled. "You need to lighten up a little, mate. Your level of angst is even higher than it was in your sixth year."

"I remember when Parkinson used to drone on and on about her so called 'problems," Draco snorted. "'I can't find a single male in this castle that I haven't shagged.'"

"Yet you still gave her your virginity after the Yule Ball."

"Oh sod off. You gave yours to Daphne Greengrass, who has probably shagged more people than Brown from Gryffindor and Pansy put together."

"She's rather attractive though, isn't she?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Draco replied.

He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He didn't want to reminisce or think about old times when he was something close to happy. It all hurt too much. Each happy memory was like a punch to the stomach. He felt that drowning was better without gasping and breathing for a brief taste of air again, only to sink deeper than before.

He was drowning. The current was pulling him downward, and he couldn't manage to care. He didn't care if his sadness consumed him, because it was all he knew now. He had nothing to pull him up, anyways. There was no reason to go on a pursuit of happiness when there was nothing to be happy about.

"I think I'm going to get married someday," Blaise remarked, tearing Draco from his current thoughts and back to reality. "I'll find someone who's good in the sack and good at cooking. That's all a man needs, really."

"Don't forget the part where she has to look better than Millicent Bulstrode, at the least," Draco added. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "It's weird to think that I even miss her now. I miss everything about Hogwarts."

"I doubt Hogwarts is even running now," Blaise grimaced. "So much has changed in just a couple of years that it's hard to imagine."

"If it's anything like everything else in our reality, I doubt that a place we love is still the way it was when we first fell for it."

"You're right."

Draco smirked. "Do me a favor, mate."

"What?"

"Never let me love anything again," Draco said, letting out a single humorless laugh.

"You won't need much help with your cold heart," Blaise teased.

Draco didn't say anything, because despite it being a joke, it was true. He loved nothing and no one. He had nothing and no one. He was too numb to feel anything besides rage and depression, and that was all he had known since his fourth year.

His heart was cold as ice, and he wouldn't tell anyone anything different.

.

* * *

_._

_November 11, 1999_

He was screaming at her now, and she was screaming right were only inches apart, and they both looked as though they wanted to murder the other. All of her insults and empty threats were drowned out by his own shouting, until one felt like a punch to the windpipe.

And to think it had all started over who got to drink the last can of Muggle soda, that he didn't even want.

"It is all your fault that he was killed!" she shrieked, and he fell silent. "You told your father all about Ron and I and what we were up to in the war! You are just as guilty as your father!"

"I didn't have a choice, Granger!" he screamed in reply. "What do you think would've happened to me if-

"That's right, Malfoy, save yourself!" Granger yelled. "Screw everyone else's worth if you can save your own arse!"

"You have got to be _KIDDING_, Granger!" he bellowed. "This is coming from a fellow occupant of a house for cowards!"

"I'm not fit for battle in my state of mind!"

"_No one_ is fit for battle in _any_ state of mind! It isn't fucking natural to have to kill other people, or to have to smell blood or hear screams in every corner! Don't use your state of mind as an excuse! At the end of the day, it's still the same. You. Are. Saving. Yourself."

She took a step forward, directly in his face now. "At least I'm something worth saving. At least I'm not going to run to daddy and cry and plead for forgiveness. At least I won't eventually end up switching sides again like a coward and telling everything I know. Because you know what, Draco Malfoy? I know you. And you are always going to be a worthless bastard. How does that feel? Finally hearing exactly what you are. You're nothing."

He nodded coldly, reached forward and dug his fingernails into her arms, gripping the fabric of her blouse. "Hit me, Granger," he seethed. "Come on and show me how pious of a person you really are."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

"Is that all you can do, Granger?" he taunted, looking almost amused. "An overused curse word?"

She had had enough by that point, and she was shaking with rage. She drew her wand and pressed it to his throat. She grinned deviously when the amused expression left his face. "Say one fucking word, Malfoy. I _dare_ you."

"What the hell do you you two think you are doing?" they heard Mrs. Weasley screech from the bottom of the stairs. They still stood their, Granger's wand still jabbed into Draco's throat, hearts pounding, jaws clenched, silvery grey eyes meeting a honey colored sort of hazel.

Molly stormed over to them, pulling them apart and snatching Granger's wand before she could say a word of protest. "This is the last warning I have. If you feel it's so necessary to fight so aggressively, I'll put the both of you out in the battlefield to actually fight your enemies rather than your allies."

She basically shoved Granger's wand back to her and stormed back up the stairs, leaving the two of them in a still angry, but now awkward, situation. He took a step back so he was not so close to her and cleared his throat. "I'm here to earn my redemption, Granger, not to end up committing my first murder. So stay the fuck out of my face."

She glared at him before she opened the fridge and took out the can of soda,taking a sip, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms. "It's filthy now, isn't it? Too bad. Drink out of the tap."

"I didn't want it anyways," he said arrogantly, smirking and strutting off in his usual swagger.

She glared at the last place he last stood for ten minutes.

.

* * *

_._

_November 13, 1999_

Hermione was alone in her thoughts. She knew it was early by the fact the sun was barely over the horizon, and that the crisp November frost still covered the grass. Sometimes she liked to come out here, to think. She liked to come outside before anyone else was awake to think, though thinking was exactly what was worst for her.

It was almost silent, apart from the seagulls and the roaring of the ocean below the cottage. She was calmed by all this; almost to the point where she was relaxed. But she could never relax; ever since she had found out Harry had been killed in the forest, since Ron had been tortured and left to die slowly and painfully over twenty four hours time from his wounds, since she had almost passed the same way, since the Order had come to save her.

She almost hated them for it; for the fact that they had taken her down from being chained up on the wall despite her screaming at them not to and her sobs that were almost shrieks. She had never been so angry, scared, and upset all at once. While she was in St. Mungo's, nurses often had to wake her at night because of her night terrors and yelling in her sleep. She was always yelling about Lucius Malfoy and Ron and Harry and the screaming and the young Muggle girl that Malfoy Sr had tortured in front of her…

She sucked in a harsh and cold breath, not wanting to dwell on any of this anymore. These were the things that made her most anxious, that triggered her flashbacks.

She flinched and automatically clutched her wand when she heard the sliding door of the cottage open, and then relaxed her stance, letting out the breath that she had been holding in, when she saw that it was only Luna.

"You're up early," Hermione commented.

Luna walked out and stood beside her in the grass.

Hermione frowned when she looked at Luna's feet. "You're barefoot. You'll get frostbite."

"Don't worry about me, Hermione," Luna dismissed. "I usually don't like wearing shoes, and I've always been fine."

Hermione smiled, just because she loved Luna and her quirks. "Okay."

Luna hummed in thought. "Molly told me about you and Draco."

"Don't even talk about it," Hermione groaned. "He's so incorrigible."

"Draco wants redemption, Hermione," Luna said softly. "I'm friends with him, and I know that's all he wants. He wants forgiveness."

"Then he needs to earn it," Hermione emphasized the word. "He hasn't done anything to earn redemption, especially from me."

"The others would more easily forgive him if you were to at least tolerate him, or go a moment in a room with him without attacking him for what he's done. The past is the past."

"It's easy for you to say," she mumbled. "My whole arm is a reminder of the past. I'm just thankful it's almost winter so I at least have an excuse for wearing long sleeves. I-I don't like looking at it."

"Draco would have never done that."

"Wouldn't he, though?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "He thought of me like that, once. He would've jumped at the chance back in school."

"Draco has never killed, even in battle," Luna countered quietly. "I doubt he could stomach torture if he can't stomach killing. Torture is more painful to watch, and it's perhaps more cruel than killing."

"Don't guilt trip me for hating Malfoy, Luna. I have plenty of reasons to hate him."

"He wants to be civil with you, Hermione," Luna murmured. "He wants to be civil with everyone, and to have others think of him in a positive light. You acting civil with him could cause the others to."

"Ha! Malfoy's done nothing but judge me and label me."

"Isn't that what you're doing to him?" Luna responded.

She couldn't think of an answer. Was her total loathing for him warranted? Her drawing her wand at him and blaming him for Ron's death certainly wasn't. But something about him just made her snap. He was everything she hated in a person; sarcastic, arrogant, cruel, cold.

And as if Luna could read her mind, she smiled sadly and rested her hand on Hermione's forearm. "You need to look past his shell. There's a good man there, no matter how deep inside him it is."

Luna left her with a lot to think about for the rest of her morning reflection.

She avoided him for five days.

.

* * *

_._

_November 18, 1999_

Draco felt a surge of protectiveness the moment he saw the cover page of 'The Phoenix'. This was one of the reasons he didn't want to know what was happening, really. He didn't want to know that his aunt was actually alive and well, or that she had killed Granger's parents. He didn't want Granger to hurt more than she already was.

When she walked into the living room that morning, he knew she would know. Everyone looked at her and went quiet, the telltale sign that you had lost something important to you. He put the paper behind his back, and she seemed to know it.

The others couldn't look at her anymore, and they went into the dining room and began talking about more light matters. He stayed with her, though. She needed someone when she inevitably found out.

"Morning, Granger," he greeted, feigning normality.

She narrowed her eyes, "What are you hiding behind your back?"

He arched his eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied smoothly.

"Don't play dumb with me, Malfoy," Granger hissed. "I saw you put something behind your back."

She reached for it, and he put his arm in the way.

"You don't want to see that, Granger," he warned.

"Well it's obviously something that would matter to me," she snapped. "So of course I want to see it."

She dove for it, and he pulled it to the other side of him, she growled, glaring at him intensely. "I'm not letting you have it," he said.

"Give me the fucking paper, you incorrigible prat," she nearly shouted.

She was too quick for him then, grabbing it from behind his back and standing up again. Her brow furrowed and then raised again. She looked broken. He could see the tears threatening her pride forming.

"Granger?"

"How did she find them?" she whispered, meeting his gaze. "They don't remember me. I Obliviated them and put in false memories. They don't even know their names."

"Bellatrix probably found a way," Draco answered. "She always gets whatever twisted thing she wants."

"You wouldn't know anything about that, you're her nephew."

"My aunt doesn't give a fuck whether I'm her family or not," he muttered. He looked at her with as much empathy as he could muster. "I'm sorry about your parents, Granger."

"I don't need your sympathy, Malfoy," she replied, glaring at him. "It's not going to bring my parents back. It's not like you care anyways."

"Fine," he snarled. "I'm done here. I'll stop giving a damn about what happens to you if that's what you want."

He got up then, leaving and going up to his bedroom. He slammed the door so hard that the doorframe cracked a little. He was hurt. Perhaps it was irrational to care for an enemy, but Granger was one of those people it was hard not to care about. It was hard not to care for someone as pure as her when his family had tortured her, and when she had saved his life despite her hatred for him.

It was hard to hate a good person.

.

* * *

_._

_November 19, 1999_

"Has anyone seen Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley asked when everyone gathered at the dining table for lunch.

The housemates all shook their head, and Molly furrowed her brow in concern and went into the kitchen to continue cooking. It was an obvious reason for concern that Granger was missing from Shell Cottage the day after her parents disappeared. Most people were probably thinking along the same lines; she had probably fled to go off on her own.

"I thought Granger was supposed to be smart," Draco whispered so Molly couldn't hear. "And now she's off pulling a stunt like this."

"Don't act like you're concerned," Chang replied coolly.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Don't act like you know who I am, Chang."

"Draco is concerned, Cho," Lovegood mused. "He cares for Hermione perhaps more than anyone else at this table besides myself. He has ever since she saved his life."

Draco felt his ears turn red in embarrassment. "Putting words in my mouth, Lovegood?"

"Obviously, he doesn't know it himself," Lovegood added. "But he does care."

"Have you confessed your deep adoration of Granger?" Blaise sneered at his friend, smirking. "Are you in love?"

Draco snorted. "Hardly. I don't like her. But she saved my life, and I feel responsible for my family's actions."

"Sometimes I think you like playing hero as much as Potter did," Blaise grinned, amusement rich in his tone. "You just haven't gotten the chance yet."

"Right," Draco scoffed in reply. "I'm about as heroic as a flobberworm."

"More like a mosquito," Weasley remarked. Draco arched an eyebrow. "You know how to irritate the hell out of everyone."

"There's not much else to do around here," Draco said, shrugging. "Plus it's not like you all have given me a fair chance."

"He has a point," Blaise agreed. "About both things he said. I'm bored."

"Life must be difficult," Draco drawled, finding this to be his turn to smirk at his friend. "Being bored. Oh, the woes of Blaise Zabini."

Blaise elbowed him in the shoulder. "Shut up, mate."

Everyone laughed, even Chang.

.

* * *

.

_November 20, 1999_

It was the second day, and there was still no sign of Granger. He failed to sleep peacefully that night, unsure what he would do if she had been captured by his family.

Perhaps Lovegood was right.

.

* * *

.

November 21, 1999

He was trying not to worry with all he had. He didn't go down to his meals. Instead, lay in bed, tapping at his nightstand and waiting for someone to cry out Granger's with joy from downstairs.

It never came.

.

* * *

.

November 22, 1999

He didn't do anything the fourth day. He simply stared at the ceiling, his brain thinking of things that could have happened that he didn't want to imagine at all. Because trying to hate Hermione Granger was a losing battle, and only made him care more.

.

* * *

.

_November 23, 1999_

It was the fifth day when he decided to go looking for her. He had been the one to first say he would go, and Molly had deemed it fit considering Draco's own episodes of hiding in various places around the outside of the cottage. So he left first thing in the morning.

He started down at the windy and treacherous coast, but highly doubted that Granger would come down here. The tides were dangerously close to shore and the ocean was unpredictable and harsh in this weather. He thought perhaps she could cast a warming shield against the wind and the rain, but he found he was right when he did not find her down there.

But he was in luck when he got to the field of frozen over and dead tall grass that he had twice hidden in back in summer when the grass was still living. He saw her silhouette walking a few yards away from him, and he couldn't help but shout. "Granger!"

She turned around, walking towards him and stopping a few feet away. It was clear she was freezing. Her curls were drenched to the point where they were only slight waves. Her teeth were chattering, and her knees were both scraped and appeared shaky. She was shivering. "M-Malfoy."

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, it came out in a seething tone due to the fact that he had worried for her for four days straight, not knowing what to think.

"It's n-n-not like you c-c-care," she replied through chattering teeth. "Y-you d-don't give a damn about m-m-me."

He looked down, biting his lip and not daring to say anything in agreement or disagreement to that statement.

"D-don't pretend that you've been w-w-worried."

He met her hazel eyes meaningfully, but did not say anything. She seemed to get the messages.

"Y-you hate me," she said. "Y-you loathe me."

"I don't hate you, Granger," he countered softly, still holding her gaze. "I don't like you, but I did come looking for you. That should say something. I was the first to volunteer."

She was silent for a moment before he saw tears well in her eyes. "I-I feel like there's no p-p-point in t-trying anymore," she whispered. He could barely hear her over the sound of the now roaring wind. "I d-don't feel like I'm worth an-anything."

"It's not good to think like that, Granger," he said. "I of all people would know that."

She nodded, not saying anything, the only noises around the roaring wind, the pouring rain and her teeth chattering.

"For the love of Merlin, why the_ fuck_ didn't you bring a jacket, Granger? Your fucking shirt is drenched. And why are you wearing fucking shorts?" he snapped. Sure, she was wearing a plaid flannel, but it wasn't enough, clearly. "You're pretty dim for the brightest witch of our age. You could have died of hypothermia, or wore, been taken by Death Eaters!"

"W-would it have really m-m-mattered?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Fucking hell. Let me tend to your knees. They're bleeding."

"You're going to go near my b-blood?" she questioned, her eyes widening like saucers.

"I mean every word I say," he responded slowly. "And I recall mentioning that I don't care about your blood anymore."

She narrowed her eyes. "C-can't I j-just heal myself?"

"With the way you're shivering?" he let out a bark of laughter. "You'll fucking hex your leg off. I'm not going to murder you."

She sighed in defeat. "Alright, have at it, then."

His pride was very wounded as he kneeled at her feet, resting one hand on her left knee and his wand on the other. He murmured a few healing spells, then cleaning her up with a quick cleaning spell. He looked up and she was staring down at him, curiosity obvious in her expression. "Is that okay?"

"F-fine," she answered, still looking at him as he healed the other one.

He could feel her eyes on him, and he thought she might be studying him. He got up, arching an eyebrow. "Better?"

"B-B-Better," she agreed.

"Let's get you inside, Granger."

.

She sat beside him at the dinner table, and they had decided to eat dinner after everyone else to avoid questions neither of them wanted to answer. For Granger, it would be of why she had run, and how she felt about her parents dying. For Draco, it would be of why he wanted to go save Granger, and if he was working with Voldemort in spying on her or some ridiculous Gryffindor concept of the same general nature.

They sat on either end of the long table, sipping the soup off of their spoons and eyeing each other now and then. After they had finished, they still sat there, not knowing what to say. It was around eight o'clock, and neither of them spoke until 8:15.

"Where the bloody hell did you sleep out there? Did you at least conjure a tent or something instead of laying out in the open?"

"I didn't really care how cold it was. Everything's cold. It still would've been cold if I had cast a warming shield or conjured a tent," she replied.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Yeah."

There was an awkward pause.

"I'm just so tired," Granger said so quietly he barely heard her.

He huffed a laugh, grinning his signature lop sided grin. "Well, that would make sense if you were sleeping on the ground in a November storm," he teased, tilting his head towards the stairs and raising his eyebrows. "Go get some sleep, Granger."

She locked eyes with him, and even from this far he could see the suffering in them. He knew what she meant, then. She was tired of war, of pain, of anger, of life. "It doesn't help," she responded tonelessly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It doesn't really help me, either."

.

He found her on the sofa at midnight, wrapped in the thickest blanket in the house; the blue, red and beige plaid one that Molly always forced on him whenever he had had similar episodes to Granger. He came over and took a seat beside her. The color had come back to her cheeks, and her hair was now dry. She looked healthier than she did earlier. "You don't look as shitty as you did earlier."

"How kind of you to say, Malfoy. You'd be the model of perfection when you'd been outside in the rain for four nights," Granger said sarcastically. "I'd get up and leave, but I'm rather comfortable where I am."

He snorted, grinning and scanning her up and down. She was entirely wrapped in the comforter, from her toes up to her shoulders. "You look like a burrito."

"Are you going to sit her and mock me all night? Was that your twisted plan? Save me so you can torture me later?"

"Definitely," he replied, chuckling under his breath.

She rolled her eyes. "You're mature as ever."

"The model of both perfection and maturity," he quipped, grinning even wider. "You're really inflating my ego tonight."

"I think your head would explode if it got any bigger," she scowled at him.

"Probably," he shrugged.

They sat in silence, apart from the sound of TV, and she stared at the screen. His eyes never left her, and he cleared his throat eventually.

"I'm going to bed," he stated plainly, walking towards his room but stopping and meeting her eyes when he was at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm glad you're alright, Granger."

She said nothing, but struggled to get her heartbeat under control once he had left. She hadn't a clue why.

.

* * *

.

_November 24, 1999_

Hermione sought after Luna again, her emotions even more conflicted after Malfoy had saved her. She had wanted to hate him, but parts of it was fading. Luna was the only one in the house who gave worthwhile and honest advice, so that was the first person she thought to go after. She knocked on Luna's bedroom door and waited for a response.

"Come in," Luna's sing-song voice called from inside.

Luna's room was not as odd as she expected it to be. The walls were a simple baby blue, and a small chest which probably contained clothes at the end of her bed. It was empty besides that, except for an obviously magical music box sitting beside the candle on the night stand. The oddest thing was the odd patchwork quilt draping slightly over the window.

Luna was laying down with her head propped up by a multitude of pillows and reading 'The Phoenix' upside down. Hermione smiled, because it reminded her of the first time they met back in fifth year. She sat down on the empty side of the bed and Luna shut the newspaper and folded it, putting it on the nightstand and sitting up to face Hermione.

"What are you thinking, Hermione?" Luna asked in a kind tone. "I can practically hear your brain working."

"I just don't know how to feel about Malfoy," she sighed. "He chose to come and look for me, and he healed my scraped knees. He's kind and then he's terrible and bitter and I just… I like things better when him and I get along, for some reason."

"You and Draco never really get along," Luna giggled.

"Well, I like things better when the banter is harmless and I don't end up giving him a bloody nose," she corrected her previous statement. "He's just the only person I can really relate to, here. Even if we don't like each other much, and as much as we irritate each other, we've both been through the same shit in this war. Neither of us have had a family in a long time."

"Draco never had one," Luna said sadly.

.

* * *

_._

_November 25, 1999_

Granger stood beside him in the yard. The rain and wind had stopped, but the clouds were the same pale grey as Draco's eyes, and the air was the kind of cold that proved snow would soon be falling. He turned to face her, leaning up against the wall of the cottage.

"I don't like you, Malfoy," she said simply.

"That's not a very polite way to start a conversation," he muttered, his lips turning up at the corners as though he was repressing a smile. "You could at least open with a 'Good morning,' or perhaps a 'thank you for saving my idiotic arse from dying of hypothermia.'"

"Well, you never gave me a 'thank you' either," she countered.

He opened his mouth, about to deny and shoot down this statement before he realized she was right. He had yet to thank Granger for what she did back at the Battle of Hogwarts. He cleared his throat, swallowing his pride. "Thank you, Granger," he murmured. Her amber eyes flicked up at his stormy grey, and surprise was dancing in them. "Thank you for saving my life."

She bit her lip as though considering a thought. She relaxed her face and flashed a small smile at him. "Thank you, Malfoy," she replied. "Thank you for saving me from whatever would have happened."

"Try not to pull a fucking mental stunt like that again."

She pursed her lips. "There won't be any promises."

The only sound for what could have been either minutes or hours was the sound of the geese above them flying south and the ever present sound of the ocean hitting the shore down below the cliff.

"I talked to Luna about two weeks ago," Granger informed him.

He furrowed his brow, confused on why she was telling him this. "Thanks for the pointless information, Granger. I'm sure I'll find use for it someday," he drawled.

"Don't push it, or I might reconsider," she snapped in a warning tone. He did as she asked, though he wasn't sure what she was even considering at all. "I was thinking about how terrible we act towards each other-

"I am the victim in this situation," he interrupted. "You gave me a bloody nose on quite a few various occasions."

"You earned all of it, don't play innocent."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes. "Get on with whatever you have to say, then."

"I just… I want to offer a truce."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What are the conditions, Granger?"

"We're civil to each other," she replied. He made a scoffing sound. "I mean, obviously we can't be all the time with the way we are, and we're always going to bicker but… We can just try to tolerate each other."

"I try to tolerate you until you turn into a screeching harpy," he sneered.

"Whatever, Malfoy," she rolled her eyes. "I tolerate you when you turn into a self-righteous prat that thinks he's above everyone."

"An attractive one."

She snorted in what he could tell was amusement. He grinned in response. "Let's shake on it, then?" she questioned, reaching her hand forward.

"What, that I'm attractive?"

"Stop being so incorrigible and save complimenting yourself for later," she said rather sternly. "For now, we have a truce to shake on."

He met her eyes, taking a step forward. Something about being in close proximity of Granger made anxiety run through his body, and it was both pleasant and unpleasant all at once. He took his hand in her own and shaking it; hers dainty and soft, and his large and rather calloused. The warm contact of skin to skin was broken almost immediately after the shake was over, and he tilted his head and smirked.

"Truce then, Granger."

And then, he simply left in his usual self-satisfied strut that angered her so.

.

.

**Author's Note**

Eh, that was a little more than a month. Sorry guys.

On another note, so so so so so much school work this year. Like... so much. I don't know if I'll even be able to do once a month on HoH or Shattered Glass but I swear I'll try my best. It's only been three days in school and I've already had seven homework assignments so... Yeah let's just see how this year goes. Make sure to follow me on tumblr (amongstthesky) if you really want updates on progress and stuff because I think I'm going to use that if I'm running slow and stuff.

I'll probably start doing song recs in a few chapters, but there will be a lot of build up before even a kiss. So if you want fast smut, you have come to the wrong place. Painful, isn't it? But I won't be as evil as this one writer I read where it took 24 chapters before they finally shagged... Anywho, yeah I'll try the best I can and I have a lot of scenes planned out in my head this is all coming naturally so I'm lad you're enjoying it.

That's about it, love to my readers as always.


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